


Why So Serious?

by lionsuicide



Series: SpideyPool Is My New Ship [8]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Harley Quinn!Peter Parker, Joker!Wade Wilson, M/M, insane asylum, tags to be added later, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsuicide/pseuds/lionsuicide
Summary: “Ahhh it if isn’t my beautiful little Harley Quinn. How is daddy’s little monster?” He mummers adoration coloring his voice, his eyes closing half way as he studies Peter’s body language.





	Why So Serious?

The place... is disturbing.    
  
The hall Peter is in disturbing.

It is dark.    
Only a few bright white lights every few feet to break up the darkness.    
The walls are dirty. At some point in time they were probably white but from years of neglect they took on a grayish tone. If Peter looks closely he could see the nail marks engraved into the wall. As well as a few dark splotches of.... something.    
  
I don’t know what it is, he thinks to himself.    
Every few feet on the wall in between the nail markings was either a door or a cell.    
The doors had only one opening on it, a small little window someone could slide open if they wanted. inside the cells were pitch black. The only indication someone or something was in the cell were the loud sounds of chains rattling and heavy breathing every so often coming from inside.    
  
Peter can’t see in the cell but he knows without a doubt that whatever is in there can see him.    
  
The air is still, dusty, and stale. Every few moments Peter felt like sneezing and the urge to breathe heavy into a brown paper bag to get some type of relief from the suppressing air grew.    
Time has no meaning in the asylum. 

Outside the place the sun is shining, the birds are singing, people are heading off to lunch, the world is functioning as it should. Time was passing out there. Here things were different. In here time had no meaning. It was useless to know it so no one bothered. Day in and day out things remained the same. Peter couldn't even tell if it was night or day  and he just came from outside. 

The sound of dripping water in the distance never ceased.   
No matter which direction Peter walks in, no matter how far he walks, the sound of dripping follows him everywhere. It kind of sounds as if the water was following him but that was much too crazy for him.   
  
It is silent. Too silent.   
There where people walking aimlessly in each direction, yet none of them made a sound. The sound of their feet muffled by the once white slippers. Despite the many various amount of people who never looked away from the floor or the wall, they never bump into each other. Not once did Peter see them come even close to bumping someone else. It was strange, it made him think that these people have some type of supernatural senses.   
  
The people were creepy.   
Their skin a dusty, unhealthy ash like color. Their eyes devoid of emotion, of life. They walk around Peter, leaving a wide range of space. They came in from the darkness silently and went into the darkness silently. Very few look at Peter as he walks pass. The few brave souls who dare to do so only did for a few seconds before going back to staring at the floor. The few seconds lasted an eternity.   
The feeling of being watch is unsettling to Peter. No matter who Peter looks at, no matter which direction he stares off into, the feeling of eyes on his body never left. Perhaps once he passes the people they turn and stare? Maybe it’s the hidden figures inside the cells? It could possibly be the cameras with the red blinking lights on every door? Whatever the reason for the feeling, Peter hates it with a burning passion.   
  
Peter loathes this place.   
  
No matter how many times he goes to the Avengers Asylum, he never gets use to the feeling of dread, the foreboding sense of fear, the feeling of hopelessness, the feeling of... excitement.   
The excitement being the only reason why he continues to come back each week.   
He takes a deep breath and instantly regrets it. A new smell of human waste and sulfur enters his nose and takes over his senses. Peter’s eyes water just a bit as he tries not to gag.   
  
These living conditions are not by any means legal.   
The only people who could manage to live here are the mentally unstable, the people who do not know the difference between right and wrong, the people who don’t notice the abuse. The people who are trapped here, should not live under these conditions, yet no one helps them. Very little people from the outside world knows the horrors that lie inside. 

Peter, as much as he hates to admit it, doesn’t help them.    
  
They are the forgotten and the damned. Peter thinks it is not his place to help them, no matter how much he wants to. He doesn’t have the power or the sources to help. Besides even if he was able to help how long with it help? The outside world would help for maybe a year at most before forgetting those that live here. It would be a helpless cause. 

Peter picks up the pace to his destination in attempts to runaway from the somber If thoughts. He walks up to a door that is labeled Joker with the initials W.W.W. underneath it. 

He knocks three times in quick succession and steps back to wait. An a piercing alarm sounds cutting through the air and echoing off the walls. The people walking behind him don’t pause, don’t react to or acknowledge the loud and sudden noise that suddenly fills the place. They continue as if they hadn’t heard a sound. Perhaps they didn’t? These people could be deaf and blind for all Peter knows.    
  
Despite his fears, despite the urge to run and hide, despite the urge to go home, take the hottest shower that would have made the devil flinch, and hide under his covers, Peter stays put. His heart speeds up. His hands get clammy. If someone was to look into Peter’s eyes, they would see his pupils dilate. 

  
The doors open slowly towards him, a loud eerie screeching sound filling the space. Peter takes another step back so as to avoid getting hit in the face. After what seems like an eternity the doors are fully opened.    
  
Peter steps inside and the door slams shut.  How a door opens slowly but shuts quickly is beyond me, Peter thinks to himself. 

  
The dripping sound that followed him in the hall disappears. The sounds of chains rattling and the heavy breathing abruptly cut off.  The silence is unnerving. In the center of the room sitting under one bright light bulb that is hanging from the ceiling is a man. He is sitting at a table strapped to the chair he is in. His arms are bolted down to the arms of the chairs tightly, his legs bolted to the front of the chairs, his chest wrapped tightly in metal to the back of the chair.    
  
Peter would think that would be enough to hold a man down but he knew from experience that he was wrong.    
  
On top of the metal straps holding him to the chair, he had heavy chains going from his wrists, chest, and ankles to some bolts dig into the ground around him. The only thing the man has free is his scarred, bald head.    
  
He stares at Peter. Eyeballing him from his position in the room, the look of amusement on his face.    


The man breaks down everything about Peter's day in his head. He may not act like he was smart but Peter knew deep deep down that Sherlock Holmes has nothing on this man.    
  
The man is dangerous, deadly, insane, uncontrollable, unstable, smart, stunning, charismatic, and convincing and so much more. His mind is damaged, broken, and never to be mended. If anyone listened to him talk they would think he was some kind of idiot who was disassociated with the real world. However according the the files in Peter’s hand the last person who underestimated the man was buried six feet under.    
  
Peter knows this. Knows he shouldn’t  be excited to talk to this heavily scarred man in the worst insane asylum in history, he knows that he should feel afraid with the way he’s staring, feel anxious and intimidated but he doesn’t. Peter loves the attention. He loves the heavy weight of this crazed man’s eyes on him. He craves the attention that he hardly ever gets on the outside.  The man knows Peter loves the attention. He knows Peter is only playing hard to get. He knows that Peter craves the attention he gives. His bright hazel eyes follow Peters movements as he walks from the door to the other side of the table. Peter places the folders he has clutched in his arms onto the surface. He straightens out his glasses and sits down. Peter opens the files labeled W.W.W. Peter in order to look unfazed and bored,  looks down and pretends to read the words on the paper but it is all a farce. He has every line memorized, every single word committed to memory. Some people would call it an obsession but Peter prefers the term fascination.    
They both know that Peter is familiar with the files. 

This is nothing but a routine for them. A game they play at the beginning of the session.    
The eyes that were on him were a distraction to his fake reading. A very welcomed distraction.   
  
“Ahhh it if isn’t my beautiful little Harley Quinn. How is daddy’s little monster?” He mummers adoration coloring his voice, his eyes closing half way as he studies Peter’s body language.    
  
On the outside Peter feigns annoyance and rolls his eyes. He shuts the file and leans back in the metal chair and folds his arm. He sighs as if to say he is fed up with the other and his stupid nicknames. On the inside is different, Peter swoons under his adoring tone, he blushes heavily at the man’s undivided attention. Peter yearns for more. Peter yearns for him.    
  
The bald man sees right past Peters annoyed display. He knows Peter’s tales, knows his body language, knows Peter inside and out.    
  
He laughs suddenly and loudly.    
  
“HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA”    
  
Just as quickly as it came it left and he did nothing but stare again his head tilting to the side in a questioning gaze. The silence is once again deafening. The man isn’t know for his lack of talking. There’s a reason he’s called Merc with a Mouth.    
  
At this point Peter is almost wishing for the dripping sound to return. Anything to make him less nervous. The chained man didn’t seem like he was going to break the silence anytime soon so Peter did.    
  
“Wade. How many times do I need to tell you? My name is not Harley Quinn, nor am I daddy’s little monster.”    
No matter how much I wish I could be he silently says. 

  
Wade’s face hardens. The hazel eyes, that Peter loves to stare into and fantasize about at night, darken.  The man smiles once more but this time it looks painful with all the scars shifting at the movement.    
  
Wade’s head falls to his chest and his shoulders shake.    
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA”.  The laugh is not as long as the first time but it’s just as loud if not louder.    
  
Wade brings his head back up and he stares into Peter’s soul once again, dropping his smile to a grim look.    
“You’ll always be my little Harley Quinn and I’ll always be your Joker.”    
  
Peter glares at him and says nothing. Wade sighs but smiles again. The smile is unsettling, this one is very fake and mocking. It shakes Peter to his core. 

“Why so serious Spidey?”   


**Author's Note:**

> If you love SpideyPool please consider joining my amino!  
> It’s an upcoming fun hangout spot for those who enjoy the ship! 
> 
> http://aminoapps.com/c/BromanticSpideyPool


End file.
